Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/223

And smile, and song, and mirth were there,
    While youth and joy their tissue wove,
And white robed forms, with tresses fair
    Gay glided through the enchanted grove.

But there she sat with drooping head,
    By stern misfortune darkly bound,
By holy light unvisited,
    And silent mid a world of sound.

Chain'd down to solitary gloom
    No sense of quick delight was there,
Save when the floweret's rich perfume
    Came floating on the scented air.

She rose, and sadly sought her home,
    Where with the voiceless train she dwelt,
In Charity's majestic dome,
    For bounteous hearts her sorrows felt.

But while her mute companions share
    Those joys which ne'er await the blind,
A moral night of deep despair
    Descending shrouds her lonely mind.

For not to her Creation lends
    Or blush of morn,—or beaming moon,
Nor pitying Knowledge makes amends
    For step-dame Nature's stinted boon.

Yet deem not, though so dark her path,
    Heaven strew'd no comfort o'er her lot,
Or in her bitter cup of wrath
    The healing drop of balm forgot.